


Elevator Operator

by sleeplessflower



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: M/M, Other, listen to elevator operator, stan's an accountant, young adult au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 17:12:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12370281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessflower/pseuds/sleeplessflower
Summary: Stan's starting to feel  sick of work





	Elevator Operator

**Author's Note:**

> ohh i love courtney barnett  
> inspired by elevator operator by courtney barnett

Stanley Uris was a weird kid. Anyone who’d had a single interaction with him could tell you that. He was quiet, he was mature, he was a worrier. By any regular person’s judgement, he’d be weird, he’d be a little too quiet, he’d be a little too organised for a fourteen-year-old. He always insisted on washing his hands three times, on aligning everything on his desk, on having all the books in his bag in a specific order. To talk to Stanley, to most people, took a little more effort, a little more work, something that most found to be exhausting. To his Biology teacher, he was a mature kid, a good conversationalist, a real worker. To the rest of the kids he was anal, he was cynical, he was up his own ass. Stanley Uris is the Rabbi’s son, did you know? That’s basically a one way ticket into heaven, right. Did you hear he corrected the teacher the other day? What an asshole.

  
To the Losers club? Stan was sensible, he was kind, he was Stan the Man. He was a never-ending faucet of information on birds, a voice of reason, a good friend. Sure, sometimes he’d be a little closed off, a little snappy, but everyone has bad days. You deal with it, help how you can.   
No-one really saw Stan like The Losers did. No-one else caught the moments his eyes were filled with light, the moments he’d be lounging on Bill’s floor, his face a little looser. No-one else saw him on the rare occasions when he’d laugh at Richie’s jokes, or even rarer, when he’d make his own jokes. With his friends he was really himself. He didn’t believe there was anyone else that could make him happy.

 _God, I miss those days._ Stan thinks to himself, looking at the loading animation on his computer. The little hourglass tips again and the little pixels of sand start trickling again. His eyes dip to his left, to a framed picture of a yellow-billed cuckoo, a picture he took himself. The bird has a sort of despondent look in its beady eyes. _I wonder what they’re up to now._

Glancing back up at his computer, the loading has stopped, his accounting program popping back up. He rubs his face for a moment, reaching for his mouse and selecting another box. He takes a few moments, typing in names and numbers, before clicking the check box. His computer chugs again. He pauses for a moment, waiting for the hourglass to return.

A feeling of hunger – not actually hunger, but something so dreadfully close – burns the bottom of his stomach, deepening once he looks out at the cubicles on the working floor. Everyone’s doing the same thing. Every one of them are clicking away, typing, waiting. It makes Stan feel empty, feel like the bird next to his computer. Despondent.

A sigh whistles out of him, and Stan pushes himself out of his desk chair. The accounting program is still whirring away, loading. He looks down at it.

“Break time, I think.” he mutters to himself, but the feeling in his stomach bubbles up. Somewhere away from the office.

His walk is seemingly meaningless. He looks at the food court of the skyscraper he works in, scouts the salad bars and chinese places, unable to shake the tiredness from his bones. Settling for a chicken and avocado salad, Stan sits for a while, in the basically-empty food court. His mind never wanders, brain too mugged to think of much. He thinks back to Derry for a moment, but everything’s so foggy. Everything in general seems kind of foggy these days.

Suddenly, – it’s as if he knows he’s walked there, but it’s so damn foggy – he’s standing by the elevator doors, his finger on the ‘up’ button.

The elevator soon opens and Stan, besides a man. He’s fairly young, perhaps as young as Stan himself. He’s got almost shoulder-length hair, and he’s muttering something to himself, staring at the floor. Stan tries his hardest not to listen in, but he catches some of what the man’s saying. ‘He thrusts his fists… and still… the g-g-g- shit.’

Stan feels another sigh build up, and it rushes out of him in a whoosh. He reaches up, presses the button for the rooftop.

**Author's Note:**

> leave that mf like


End file.
